Bid them all home. He’s gone, and we’ll no further.

The nobility are vexed, whom we see have sided

In his behalf.

Now we have shown our power,

Let us seem humbler after it is done

Than when it was a-doing.

Bid them home.

Say their great enemy is gone, and they

Stand in their ancient strength.

Dismiss them home.

Here comes his mother.

Let’s not meet her.

Why?

They say she’s mad.

They have ta’en note of us. Keep on your way.

O, you’re well met. The hoarded plague o’ th’ gods

Requite your love!

Peace, peace! Be not so loud.

If that I could for weeping, you should hear—

Nay, and you shall hear some. [_To Sicinius_.] Will you be gone?

[_To Brutus_.] You shall stay too. I would I had the power

To say so to my husband.

Are you mankind?

Ay, fool, is that a shame? Note but this, fool.

Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship

To banish him that struck more blows for Rome

Than thou hast spoken words?

O blessed heavens!

More noble blows than ever thou wise words,

And for Rome’s good. I’ll tell thee what—yet go.

Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son

Were in Arabia and thy tribe before him,

His good sword in his hand.

What then?

What then?

He’d make an end of thy posterity.

Bastards and all.

Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!

Come, come, peace.

I would he had continued to his country

As he began, and not unknit himself

The noble knot he made.

I would he had.

“I would he had?” ’Twas you incensed the rabble.

Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth

As I can of those mysteries which heaven

Will not have Earth to know.

Pray, let’s go.

Now, pray, sir, get you gone.

You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:

As far as doth the Capitol exceed

The meanest house in Rome, so far my son—

This lady’s husband here, this, do you see?—

Whom you have banished, does exceed you all.

Well, well, we’ll leave you.

Why stay we to be baited

With one that wants her wits?

Take my prayers with you.

I would the gods had nothing else to do

But to confirm my curses. Could I meet ’em

But once a day, it would unclog my heart

Of what lies heavy to’t.

You have told them home,

And, by my troth, you have cause. You’ll sup with me?

Anger’s my meat. I sup upon myself

And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let’s go.

Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do,

In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.

Fie, fie, fie!